


The Willow and the Girl

by 7Angel_Tongue7



Category: The Willow Maid - Erutan (Song)
Genre: Allegorical Homophobia, F/F, It's a Meaningful Tragic Ending Though, Queer Character, Queer Fairy-tales, Queer Themes, Tragic Romance, Very Metaphorical Violence But Still, i'm sorry about that, personification of trees, tragic ending, warning for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7Angel_Tongue7/pseuds/7Angel_Tongue7
Summary: This is a queer retelling of the song by Erutan, 'The Willow and the Girl,' in the style of a fairy-tale.
Relationships: The Willow Maid and Her Willow
Kudos: 1





	The Willow and the Girl

Once upon a time, by a river which ran through a great forest, near a small village, there was a willow tree. The willow was tall, thick and very old. Its branches circled its trunk like green curtains, trailing into the stream, and a girl lived inside them, her bed in the willow’s trunk. The girl would have been lonely there, but every night the spirit of the tree swayed, and the wind whistled through the branches, and the girl could feel soft brown arms, covered in raised welts like the bark, encircling her. Her skin always warmed where the spirit of the tree held her, and she could hear the voice of the willow speaking to her.  
All the animals in the forest knew the willow and the girl, and came during the day to see them. The birds sang with the girl, and the deer snuffed curiously round the willow’s edge, always happy to greet her. The girl roamed freely round the forest, speaking to the animals, making daisy crowns, and dancing and singing, but she never left it. She was a quiet girl, and she had been lonely in the village when she lived there. She belonged in the forest, with her animals and trees and with her willow.

One day a young man came walking through the forest, with his bow ready to hunt. But as he was passing by the willow-glade, he heard the voice of a girl singing. He turned to look, and saw the girl in a clearing, singing and making a daisy crown, the head of the doe in her lap. He walked closer, thinking he knew her. The doe heard him and startled, all her legs spinning out in a flash, and she dashed away through the trees. The girl looked up and saw him.  
‘Miss,’ he said, ‘Aren’t you old Jim’s daughter? What are you doing so deep in the forest? Do you need help getting home?’  
The girl tilted her head, but didn’t speak – only shook her head.  
‘Is there another village near here?’ the young man asked, ‘I’ve not been so far before. No-one has seen you around in years.’  
The girl shook her head again.  
‘Where do you live then?’  
The girl pointed down the clearing, to where the willow tree draped branches into the stream.  
‘You cannot live out here in the forest!’ the young man exclaimed ‘It must be cold in the winter, and lonely with only yourself for company.’  
But the girl only shook her head.  
It was no wonder, the young man thought, that the girl was not speaking. If she had lived so long in the forest without company, she must be unbearably lonely. He didn’t see – or didn’t want to see – the way the doe he had frightened hovered on the edge of the clearing, poised for flight, but waiting for her friend, or how the birds chirped curiously from the trees. He didn’t see – or didn’t want to see – how the willow’s leaves trembled nervously, seeing him so near.  
He said again, ‘The forest must be cold and lonely. Let me come tomorrow to keep you company.’  
He shrugged his bow onto his shoulders and smiled at the girl. She watched him leave without a word.  


The next day the young man came again, and found the girl on the edge of the stream, willow branches draped like strings of jewels over her neck and shoulders. She was singing, and combing out her hair, which was red as flame, in the green light of the clearing. Her eyes were emerald as the willow-leaves, her skin rough and freckled from the outdoor sun. The young man ran a hand through his hair, palms sweating. In the green light, surrounded by branches, the girl looked suddenly older, more serene, and he tried to remember how many years it has been since he last saw her, a young girl doing the washing on the porch of her father’s house. She might have been a fairy from the old stories, sitting there, one with the willow-tree. The young man shook his head and bowed, offering her a posy of yellow flowers.  
‘I thought you might like these,’ he said. ‘They come from the fields across from the village, and I know you have not left the forest for a long time.’  
The girl’s eyes widened and she smiled, taking the flowers.  
‘I’m glad you like them,’ the young man said, ‘Perhaps sometime we might visit the fields. It must be hard to have to stay in the forest so.’  
The girl frowned, and shook her head, but the young man was undeterred. He came and sat beside her at the stream. After a while the girl smiled again, and beckoned him through the willow branches. The leaves hustled in welcome as he slipped through the curtain. The girl smiled to see him follow her, and placed the yellow flowers in a knot of the willow’s trunk, stroking the bark. The willow sighed, and shuddered, comforted. She gestured, showing him her home.  
The young man looked around, and saw the bed nestled in the trunk of the willow, and that there was no fire or hearth to keep her warm, and no sign of food to eat or bucket of water. He did not see – or did not want to see – the places on the bark where the girl drank the willow-sap, or the wild-flowers that grew in a lush soft carpet by her feet. He did not see – or did not want to see – how the girl put her hand on the brown bark of the trunk, as on the shoulder of a lover.  
But he did not want the girl to send him away so he said, ‘You have a beautiful home. Perhaps one day you will come to see mine.’  
But the girl frowned and shook her head. Then she spoke, her voice soft, eyes flashing green.  
‘I am happy in the forest. I cannot leave my willow. I am glad to have a new visitor, but don’t ask me to follow you home.’  
The young man frowned, but he did not answer. To him the overhanging branches of the willow began to seem a cage, keeping the bright young girl in. He thought he saw the spirit of the tree, hovering over the girl’s shoulder, a dark knobbly shape, with long dark hair. The girl needed a rescuer. But he said none of this out loud. Instead he nodded.  
‘I will come again then, and see you tomorrow,’ he said.

On the third day, the young man brought an axe into the forest. The trees swayed and shook their leaves at him as he passed, and the birds cried out in alarm, but the young man ignored them. He strode on toward the stream where the willow tree was planted. The deer in the clearing fled as they saw him, and the willow’s leaves fluttered and shook.  
He thought – or thought he was thinking – of how glad the girl would be to be free of this accursed forest with all its wild animals and leaning, terrifying trees. That she would embrace her rescuer, and he would take her away, to see new places with him, and find new flowers. He thought of her combing out her wet hair by his fireplace, and strengthened by real food from his hearth. He did not think – or did not think he thought – of how happy the girl had seemed beneath the willow branches, like a fairy from the old stories, or how tenderly she had clasped the willow bark, which had been warm to the touch like skin.  
When the girl saw him coming with the axe in his hand, she threw herself in front of her tree and cried, but he was unmoved. She begged him to leave the willow, to take her with him and see that she could not leave the forest, but to leave the willow in peace. She was happy, she said, but she would go with him to the forest’s edge if only he would not use the axe on her tree. But the young man was unmoved. He took the axe, and began to use it, and soon the girl could not speak any longer. The scraping of the bark and the shuddering of the leaves sounded almost like human screams under the young man’s hand but he did not falter. The young girl clutched at his shoulders desperately, trying to pull him away, but she was crying, and her hands were shaking. Her tears slipped into the stream with the willow leaves. For a moment he thought he saw the tree-spirit, crying, her hair blown out green in the water, which was filled with dark sap like blood. But he paid it no mind.

Once the willow had fallen, the young man went to the girl and put his cloak around her shoulders.  
‘Come,’ he said, ‘there is nothing to keep you her any longer.’  
The girl wept, and though she did not want to go, she was afraid of what he would do. The axe was still in his hand. She followed him silently along the forest’s edge, the birds cawing and wailing behind them, the trees dark and dropping leaves into the wind. But a few paces from the tree-line, the girl cried out in pain and fell to the earth. The young man turned to look, and saw her lying still.  
Her hair was blowing out like fire, and her eyes burned where she looked at him. Then she was gone, and where she had fallen a small rose bush stretched flame-red blossoms to the sky. The young man blanched, and cried out, but when he tried to touch the bush, the rose-thorns seared his skin. He stayed for a while, looking, but he could not take the roses with him, so he left them there.

And every winter, at the edge of the clearing, heads of roses as red as flame drop to the ground, and every spring, new buds burst from the stems. The villagers call the roses, ‘Willow’s Tears’ and no-one ever picks them, or moves them from where they grow, for fear of their sharp thorns. And sometimes, on a clear moonless night, the villagers say they hear a girl singing, or, in the shadows, see brown arms encircling the rose bush, or hear two soft voices speaking, and they say that the spirits of the willow and the girl still live in the forest, but are hiding in the shadows at the edge of the wood, so that no-one can separate them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This song spins round in my head all the time - and listen to it if you haven't already, it's amazing. (You can watch the music video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E52rxz2sjRs) 
> 
> The first time I heard it, I cried. In the song, the willow isn't depicted as sentient, or as the girl's lover. But I always hear queer themes in it, in the man's lack of understanding of why the maiden wants to stay in the forest, in his insistence that he knows best, and in the way that it becomes clear that the girl can't live outside the forest, no matter what the young man thinks.


End file.
